


A History of Intimacy

by Monkess



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-16 13:14:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2271063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monkess/pseuds/Monkess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between the scenes and episodes fic, starting off from beginning of season 2</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse my ridiculous typos if you can

Returning to the car was not as troublesome the third time around. The noise of whatever it was that kept the strange, horseless carriage drawn had distracted Belle, especially the second time around, when Rumplestiltskin and she had returned from the forest, where the wishing well was. As Regina's broken, befuddled prisoner, she hadn't even paid attention to the journey there. As Lady Belle of Avonlea, she'd taken much more notice of what transpired in the world around her.

They'd spoken such a lot, driving back to Rumplestiltskin's little shop in town.

Much later in the evening, when it was already dark, they spoke nothing. Belle felt tired, which was no wonder. Exhausted, really, considering all that had transpired in a day. She'd been awakened sometime in the middle of the night before by an odd man stealing her out of Regina's prison. In the small hours of early morning, just before dawn, she'd found Rumplestiltskin. They had gone out to the forest. They had returned from the forest. Somewhere between two settings of tea, Belle had learned how to shave her armpits, walk on the tallest heels she'd ever worn in her life, Rumplestiltskin had gone off to get revenge on Regina, Belle had quarreled with him, she'd gone on the longest and the most aimless walk while still wearing the tallest heeled shoes she'd ever worn in her life, and returned to Rumplestiltskin.

Belle could sense his uneasiness. Maybe he was expecting her to say something. He had been cowed to silence by her express wish to stay with him. Belle couldn't think of anything more to say. Rumplestiltskin had gone and endangered the whole strange little town of Regina's they were all trapped in, because of Belle. The dark ghoul had worked havoc while searching for its prey, the dark and glittering Queen. Belle didn't want anyone to come to harm's way, not even Regina. Then it had taken all the willpower, courage and love she had, to come back to Rumplestiltskin, and tell him she wanted to stay with him. Maybe that was why she felt out of sorts, because she felt empty, for the time being.

And it had been over a day since she'd last had any sleep. Belle stopped trying to force her eyes open, and leaned her head back against the seat. It was dark outside, she couldn't see anything of the town anyway. She'd barely closed her eyes for a minute when Rumplestiltskin spoke for the first time since he'd asked her if she wanted to go home. Whatever that entailed.

"Here we are," he said, his voice thin. Belle couldn't be sure if it was his nerves, or him being considerate not to wake her up in case she'd fallen asleep.

Belle lifted a hand to hide a yawn, before she fluttered her eyes open. When she managed to unbuckle the seat belt without assistance, she felt a tiny surge of pride. She would get a hang of these things. She had asked Rumplestiltskin earlier, why were there seat belts in cars, and he'd given a very short explanation about velocities, abrupt stops, and smashing through the front window. Belle still marvelled at the whole concept of speed so high, it could flung a person right out through a window. You must be tired, Belle thought to herself, your mind is rambling.

Rumplestiltskin had circled the car and opened her door for her by the time Belle was finished watching with rapt fascination the seatbelt rewinding itself. When he gave her his arm to lean on as she climbed out, Belle thanked him. She was still a little uncertain on her new shoes. Belle pulled herself up and out, and saw the house that must have been what Rumplestiltskin had called "home."

He was unpacking luggage from the boot fo the car. A black leather suitcase full of clothes from the shop, all for Belle.

"I was expecting the Dark Castle, for some reason," Belle said with a mischievous grin as they approached the front door.

"What this house lacks in size, it makes up in modern amenities," Rumplestiltskin replied. He pulled out a key and swiftly unlocked the front door and gestured her to go in first.

"Amenities? Such as?" Belle peered around in the dark foyer, but didn't see anything so very unusual. She didn't go in very far.

"Would you like a hot bath? Or something to eat?" Rumplestiltskin asked, either avoiding or leading to Belle's question. She couldn't tell.

"Ah, a light switch," Belle annonced, and gleefully pushed the button that made the lights turn on. She beamed at the lights, and turned her gaze back at Rumplestiltskin, almost daring to smile again. "Are there buttons for making dinner or drawing baths?"

"Yes, there are, after a fashion," he said.

Belle actually didn't want a bath right then. She had the memory of taking cold bucket showers twice a week for twenty eight years in Regina's nightmarish prison. She didn't want to dwell on that now.

"Maybe we should have at least a little dinner." Belle said. "But I'll probably fall asleep the very moment after I'm done eating."

"It has been a long day," he agreed. Belle's suitcase was left in the foyer, and Rumplestiltskin led hre through the ground floor of the house, showing her all the light switches on the way to the kitchen.

There were were so many unrecognizable and foreign things there, with their switches and buttons, Belle felt a little overloaded with new information, when she followed through his short introduction of the essentials.

He caught on her slightly bewildered expression. "Maybe we'll look at this tomorrow, you should just sit down at the table and let me make you something."

"Thank you," Belle said, happy to be led away to sit down and be waited upon. 

She sat watching him in the strange warmth of the electric light, and tried to remember the details of the last day they'd ever spent together. Even though it was close to thirty years ago, she could remember it like it was yesterday, waking up in the Dark Castle, going to the kitchen at the break of dawn, to get the fires going in time for breakfast.

Cooking here was effortless in comparison. No firewood anywhere, no fiddling with kindling and flintstones. In a mere few minutes, she was eating an omelette and washing it down with orange juice. She had more juice while she watching him eat. She was drinking the juice more for the company than for any desire to have it, and once she was done drinking both glasses, and possibly also thanks to all the tea they had drank in the shop, Belle found herself needing to pee very badly. She crossed her legs until they were all done, and then she hastened to help with the dishes.

"Those can wait, let's find you a bed," Rumplestiltskin said as he halted her.

"Is there an outhouse in the back?" Belle asked - the question was responded with a walking tour to the downstairs toilet and the much nicer and more spacious upstairs bathroom. While she relieved her bladder upstairs, she heard Rumplestiltskin and his cane go up and down the staircase, as he was bringing her suitcase up.

Belle washed her face and saw from the mirror that she was a little flushed. She suspected it was thanks to the warm sensations and the flutters in the pit of her stomach whenever Rumplestiltskin did something nice for her, now. She recalled with fervent pleasure the kiss they'd shared in the forest earlier in the day. Too bad the rest of the day had soured the idea of kissing for her.

After she made her reappearance from the bathroom, Rumplestiltskin hollered to her from a guest bedroom, where he'd left all her new clothes. And made her bed with fresh sheets. Once she was in, he retreated, hesitated at the doorstep for a second, and wished her good night. Then he strode off in half a haste, as well as a man with a limp can stride speedily.

Belle had wanted to ask him about the limp, but then again, there were a thousand other things she wanted to talk to him about. And the cane and the leg were not so easily approached with tact.

Belle dug out the shimmery satin night gown from the suitcase, and changed into. She could hardly keep her eyes open by the time she turned off the lights and climbed into bed, and it didn't take her even a moment to fall asleep.

But as easily as she fell asleep, so easily she woke up again. It was dark. At first she wasn't sure where she was. She had dreamt of the man with the hooked hand, who'd beat her unconscious. Belle's first instinct was to believe this was some continuation of the torture Regina was putting her through, maybe she had conjured up the dream-like day, only so she could shatter Belle's hopes and dreams.

The bed was too comfortable to be from a prison cell, but something smelled old and dusty, Unaired an unused.

Belle wondered again if her dream with the hooked hand was real. Perhaps he'd returned, and hit her, and stolen her away to some unknown place?

Belle got out of bed in the dim room, and went straight for the door-like shape, to see if it was locked.

The door creaked open, and she could see a corridor beyond.

But it might be a trick, Belle thought, with dream-haze addled memories.

No, this is Rumplestiltskin's house in Storybrooke, she told herself reassuringly. I'm a guest here.

Then why was her head aching so bad, as if someone had hit her with a blunt end of a metal hook?

Belle stumbled into the corridor, as if trying to get away and hide from the nightmare-come-too-real. She tried the doors around her until she found Rumplestiltskin's bedroom.

It didn't take five seconds for a bedside lamp to turn on after Belle rattled the door lock with her shaking hands as she let herself in.

"Sweetheart? What's the matter?" He asked, sitting up in bed and blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Belle stood breathlessly at the other end of the room for a moment. Rumplestiltskin in his nightgown - or what was he wearing? - and so soft and harmless, compared to the things she was so used to seeing him wear.

"I uh..." she started, realizing he was waiting for her to say something. "I have a headache. I don't suppose you have any willow bark?"

He looked thoughtful. Belle realised that he was in fact very likely thinking about her in the same way she'd just been thinking about him.

"Let me get you something," he said, and got out of bed. His gold-topped cane was not far away from his bed.

Belle stared at the carpet when Rumplestiltskin walked past her. When he was out of the room, Belle sauntered a bit closer to the bed. It was wide. Easily wide enough for both of them. Belle sat down on the unoccupied edge and tested the bounce of the mattress. How lovely were beds in this Storybrooke. She leaned in to inspect the little lamp on the bedside table which also came with a switch. She turned it on.

"What are you doing?" He was back so soon. Belle sat up properly and turned her head.

"I was thinking, I might sleep here," she explained.

Rumplestiltskin stood there at the foot of the bed, holding a glass of water and a white little pill in one hand, leaning on his cane with the other, and Belle registered some sort of an emotional rollercoaster pass through his face, but she was far too tired and groggy to register the fine details. She got up and took the water and the white pill from his shaking hand.

"Is this magic?" Belle asked suspiciously.

"No, it's science." His moment of weakness seemed to end at that.

"Hmm," Belle decided to give science a try and drank the pill down with the water. She then went to fetch her pillow and blanket from the guestroom bed.

"Science must work, I already feel a lot better," Belle said as she laid down on the bed next to Rumplestiltskin.

"That's good, darling," he said, and turned off the light on his side of the bed. Belle mimicked the gesture on her own side.

Then it was dark.

"Good night, Belle," she heard him say mutedly.

"Good night, Rumplestiltskin," she replied.

While waiting for the sleep to come back, she reached her hand out from under her own blanket and under Rumplestiltskin's cover, and sought out his hand. She wrapped her fingers around his palm and gave it a little squeeze. Then she felt his fingertips smoothly gliding over her hand, in short, calm patterns. It was a very soothing lull back to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 2 episode 2 "We Are Both" coincides with this

When Belle had turned up in his shop, Rumplestiltskin had thought it nothing short of a miracle. When he woke up the next day to see and hear Belle asleep in his bed, he relived through the same shattering feelings. Belle was alive, and she wanted to be with him. Near him. And as living proof, there she was, fast asleep on one side and facing him, her features half-sunken in the fluffy pillow he'd given her.

Rumplestiltskin couldn't remember ever having waken up more pleasantly surprised in his life. Not ever.

In the back of his mind he was already starting to plot a course for the rest of the day. Slightly depending on how Belle felt about it, they'd have to leave Storybrooke soon. He'd tell her about Baelfire when they would drive off. Later. Right now. he'd get up, make them breakfast, leave Belle home with a book to preoccupy her while he was gone, and then visit the shop to clear it of anything and everything useful for his search of Baelfire.

However urgent and long in planning his thoughts were, Rumplestiltskin still couldn't help but spend a few minutes looking at Belle sleeping. When he sat up and reached for his cane, the mattress dipped, but it didn't disturb Belle in the slightest. Her breathing was deep and even, her exhalations coming out with an adorable little snuffling sound Rumplestiltskin had once heard when Belle had fallen asleep with a book in her lap in the Dark Castle.

Belle had pulled the covers up close, and was hugging the edge of the blanket close to her chest under her chin. All he could see of her was half a shoulder.

When Rumplestiltskin found himself thinking of how _very lovely_ Belle had looked in the middle of the night, standing at the foot of the bed in her yellow nightgown – which presumably she was still wearing underneath the blankets – he decided abruptly it was time to get out of bed and into the day.

As softly and quietly as he could, Rumplestiltskin left the room and took a change of clothes with him.

While brushing his crooked teeth – now he had a sudden urge to make sure his breath was minty, in case there was a reprisal of yesterday's kiss – he made plans for the morning. Having no idea how long Belle might sleep, there was no point making breakfast just yet. Nor was he about to leave her in the house all alone and go off to the shop to clean up. He suspected that Belle wouldn't like waking up to an empty house, she hadn't even wanted to sleep in a bed alone. And there was no way of knowing what she might do in his absence. She might find her father, and then it might become extremely difficult to take her with him, since it was unlikely that Maurice had already forgotten the caning Rumplestiltskin had given him on Valentine's Day.

And Belle would need a toothbrush, Rumplestiltskin reminded himself, and spat and rinsed. Before he walked out of the bathroom, he recalled he wouldn't have to go through the trouble of visiting Mr Clarke's pharmacy today. With a snap of his fingers, there was a plain, white toothbrush and a cup to hold it, next to his.

Soon he was dressed again to face the world in the appearance of pawnbroker and landlord, one Mr Gold. He checked up on Belle to see if she was awake yet, but she remained as he'd left her, fast asleep and snoring like a kitten.

It was early, only half past six. He always woke up early, no matter what kind of a graveyard shift of dark deeds he'd committed during the night. After being alive for three hundred years, sleep was for him a mere momentary distraction and obligation.

Rumplestiltskin considered calling Regina's house just to rephrase his exact sentiments about her abducting Belle, and as a bonus he would get to wake her up early, knowing she preferred to sleep later than this. Belle had put her foot down about harming the queen, but she had said nothing about annoying, inconveniencing or threatening Regina...

“You toy with words like you do with people,” Belle had said, her breaking heart in her eyes, he remembered then, making Rumplestiltskin reconsider the necessity for pettiness.

Thinking of Belle, and more specifically, what she might like, or find useful, Rumplestiltskin went into his study, where most of the books in the house were. The books were all bestowed upon the house as a side effect of The Curse, and reflected the personality of Mr Gold. He sincerely doubted even Belle could find the dry law books of this outlandish world diverting, and moved on to catalogue the contents of his book shelves.

There was an old-fashioned encyclopedia set, which was an acceptable idea. They were old, heavy, bound with real leather, and made entirely obsolete by the Internet. Rumplestiltskin didn't want to give Belle the laptop maybe just yet, not when she wasn't yet introduced to the idea of taps in the bath tub, or gas cookers in the kitchen. One thing at a time. And she loved books. Best introduce her to the world through something familiar.

Two older copies of the Storybrooke Mirror were also at his desk. Rumplestiltskin went through both paper briefly, and when he saw that each of them sported an advertisement for the Game of Thorns, he tore the newspapers apart and took a little trip outside to dispose of them. There was on copy of the day's morning paper. Probably the young man who usually delivered it had something more pressing on his mind – like the fact that his life was a lie and his real personality was that of a butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker...

Rumplestiltskin took the encyclopedias to the sitting room and set them on a coffee table. Then it was tea time. He did the dishes of last night while the water came to a boil. By the time he had put the tea leaves in the pot and started making breakfast preparations, Belle descended downstairs and made her appearance in the kitchen, unparalleled in her beauty. Even with her hair a tangled mess. She was in the process of brushing an antique hair brush through it.

“Toast and eggs?” He asked, with a hesitant smile.

“Yes please,” she replied, and then started looking around the place with fresh, awake eyes. She left the room, came back again, examined curtains, windows and floors with a critical eye, left again, and returned.

“Wouldn't it be nice to open the window and let a little fresh air in?” She asked. “And I think the curtains could use a little dusting.”

Rumplestiltskin stopped with what he was doing and gave Belle an intense, pleading stare. “Sweetheart, you are not my caretaker any more. You don't have to do anything.”

“I know. But I'm not useless. I want to do something. I have been unoccupied for thirty years,” her eyes wandered a little, until she returned the stare, and smiled. “Besides, I was rather proud of how well I did with your _rather large estate_.”

“You're not a maid, you're a lady, and you should be treated as such.”

Belle laughed a little, and then she crossed over the gap of distance between them and tumbled herself straight into him, to wrap her arms around him, and to press her face into his chest. He couldn't return the hug with more than half one arm, as he was holding a spatula with one hand, and leaning on his cane with the other. She let go of him and started pouring the tea without being asked. The tea seemed just about ready.

“What was that for?” He asked.

“I just felt like hugging you,” Belle said with a smile. “Now that I can, I need to make sure I use every opportunity.”

“There's honey here, if you'd like some with your tea,” Rumplestiltskin said, feeling a bit dazed. He was already turning away to look for the cupboards for honey, but Belle was faster than him.

“I'll find it, you need to mind the eggs or they'll burn,” she declared.

The eggs didn't burn, the toast didn't burn either, and breakfast went on swimmingly. As soon as they were done eating, he pried her from her attempt of doing the dishes and showed her the encyclopedias on the coffee table, and then the rest of Mr Gold's books in the study. As he'd guessed, Belle was utterly delighted with them.

But when he told her he would have to leave for a few hours and go back to the shop, Belle's face dropped. “Why are you going there? Are you opening your shop?” She asked.

“No, I'm clearing the shop of its valuables and bringing them home, that's all,” Rumplestiltskin said, omitting the tiny detail that he was hoping that tomorrow morning he'd like to pack anything and everything he brought back home with him into the back of the car and drive away from Storybrooke, preferably with Belle on the front passenger seat. She accepted the explanation, but her suddenly subdued joy seemed to be a reflection of the fact that he was telling her only a half truth.

“Don't worry I'll be gone only for a few hours. I'll bring lunch when I return,” he promised, and turned around to leave, expecting Belle to stay rooted on the comfortable sofa until he'd come back.

“That's nice. In the meantime, I think I'll go out and try find my father,” Belle declared, and sprung right back up from her seat.

Rumplestiltskin's first thought was to cast a spell, to somehow befuddle her, keep her indoors, lock the house, make her forget about Maurice. He gritted his teeth together while this train of thought drove past the station, and was glad that his back was turned to her.

“Perhaps you might find some help from the Internet...” he said.

“The Internet? What is that? Is that some kind of a fishing equipment?” Belle asked with delighted marvel.

Ten minutes later, she was seated in the leather chair of the study, in front of the laptop, learning how to use Google search. Rumplestiltskin was glad that the search would yield her no results, since this world knew nothing about lord Maurice, only of a florist called Moe French.

“And you can search anything at all with this?” Belle asked, glancing up and down between his face and the screen in front of her.

“Yes, anything at all.”

“This is amazing. Is it magic?” She asked, suddenly suspicious.

“Science, sweetheart,” he replied, taking note it was her second dubious comment about magic.

“Thank you! It's even better than books,” Belle declared, and typed more search words.

Rumplestiltskin stayed hovering behind her shoulder, overlooking the search for lord Maurice, and when that didn't work out, she was quickly distracted by her burning desire to know how did electric light work. When she was deeply engrossed on a wikipedia article about Nikola Tesla, Rumplestiltskin decided it was time to leave.

“I'll be going then, he declared, and sauntered out of the room. By the time he reached the front door, Belle hurried to his side from the study to catch up with him.

“I forgot something,” she declared, and then reached on the tips of her toes to press a quick kiss on his cheek. When he could bare to look at her, he saw her cheeks were a little flushed. “Please come back soon.”

At that moment, the kind of possessive fear of losing a loved one struck him so badly, he really thought it wasn't that at all far fetched that Belle might vanish from his life again at any moment, and when he kissed her in response, it was with the same fervour as when he had kissed her the day before, and she kissed him back with equal passion, and once again wound her arms around him. He was now much more loathe to part from her embrace than the day before, when he'd been in a hurry to think about his plans, and how Belle's impossible return to his life affected them.

“I won't be long,” he told her, as soon as he found his voice again, and added a shaking nod to reaffirm this promise. “Try not to break anything while I'm gone. Especially yourself.”

Belle smiled brilliantly, and nodded. “I'll try not to climb any ladders while you're gone.”

Feeling a little heady and light from kissing Belle, and optimistic for the breaking of the Curse, Rumplestiltskin had the self-satisfied air of smugness of a cat when he made his way through town back to Mr Gold's pawn shop. He was aware of a chaos budding around the streets where people in various states of desperation were struggling to come to terms with the after-effects of this brand new day as their real selves. He, of course, couldn't give less of a damn about the citizens of the Enchanted Forest, and drove to work with a crooked grin on his face.

The CLOSED sign hung was hung up on the front door. He was writing a list at the glass counter, taking inventory of things to bring, and considering how much gold he would have to spin and how much of it he could translate into this-world currency. When Regina barged in, Rumplestiltskin masked his complete and comprehensive desire to punch a hand through her chest and crush her heart while it was still inside her. However tempting the thought was, doing so would cost him Belle.

Regina managed to remind him he wouldn't have managed the travel here from the Enchanted Forest if it weren't for her. For that fact alone, he acquiesced to her demands and gave her Cora's spell book. She'd leave him and Belle well enough alone until their imminent departure, and then Rumplestiltskin wouldn't have to deal with Regina any longer.

Satisfied with his plans, Rumplestiltskin started to pack for the journey, when the second visitor of the day barged in through the door. Prince Charming, needing help. Five minutes after his departure, Rumplestiltskin had smashed every glass case in his shop. He was now trapped in Storybrooke.

The exhaustion from the exercise left Rumplestiltskin leaning both hands on his cane and catching his breath. After another five minutes, the glass cases mended themselves with a little assistance from magic. Certain that he would decapitate whoever was the next idiot to wander into the shop, Rumplestiltskin locked the doors with magic, and left. He didn't drive home. Instead, he visited the town border, where he stood for a moment, seething in blind fury and grief, until he was certain he could return to Belle in a state more resembling to the one he'd left her in. So he would have to explain as little to her as possible.


	3. Chapter 3

Rumplestiltskin returned home over three hours later than he'd intended. The complications at the town border hadn't been the only thing to slow him down that afternoon. Halfway back home, he'd remembered he was supposed to bring lunch, which by then was dinner, really. The only two establishments in the heart of Storybrooke that were open were Granny's Diner, and the even less lacklustre fish and chips shop.

Hoping that Belle would like deep-fried North Atlantic cod, Rumplestiltskin returned home moderately nervous, preparing himself mentally for explaining his absence, while uncharacteristically for himself, hoping against the worst, which was that he'd find the house empty, and Belle gone again. He sat in the car a second longer than he needed, and took a breath, before proceeding to climb out with the car, cane in one hand, a white, unassuming plastic bag in the other hand.

Walking up to the house, his mind raced back through all the conversation he'd already had with Belle. They hadn't spoken anything at all about the curse of the dagger. Or his limp. He could already tell she'd been curious to ask him about it, by the way her eyes had wandered down to his mangled foot, or to the top of his cane when she'd thought he wasn't looking.

He'd already prepared evasive answers if she asked about the limp, making sure he wouldn't exactly lie to her, even if he didn't tell her the exact truth. His cowardliness wouldn't impress her, and the memory of how his self-inflected injury had soured his marriage completely was still fresh enough in Rumplestiltskin's memory.

While he had all the reason to rush home (Belle was inside, alive, and waiting for him, probably hungry, and most likely worried), the walk up to the front door from the car was more foreboding. He suspected they would argue again. Thick skinned though he might try and make himself, and convince himself and all the rest of the world that he was impervious to whatever was thrown at him, exchanging unpleasant words with Belle made him feel raw and hopeless inside. Prince Charming's news of them all being trapped in Storybrooke had already robbed him of enough hope that day, and he couldn't bare to lose the rest of it in under Belle's clear, clever blue eyes.

Once inside, Rumplestiltskin noticed immediately there was something different about the house. He almost tip-toed down the hallway, taking in all the small differences Belle's presence had brought about in just five hours. Things had changed places around the room. There was less dust. And the sunlight poured inside clearer and brighter than it had before.

Rumplestiltskin sighed, his head hanging a little. He could have had the windows washed with a flick of his finger, if he'd paid any attention, and Belle could have spent the day reading instead of cleaning. But of course Belle wouldn't have spent the day idly. And she liked her home tidy. Any home of hers... be it her father's estate, the Dark Castle or... any other address. Rumplestiltskin glanced up the staircase, wondering if she were upstairs, washing windows or scrubbing floors somewhere above.

Belle approached her from the direction of the kitchen instead, and Rumplestiltskin felt himself freeze. It was as if he really saw her properly now, really  _ saw _ what was there. Underneath the wide smile, and the beautiful dress, she was pale and much more thin than she'd been when she'd left the Dark Castle. And Rumplestiltskin realised, to his shame, he hadn't even thought about what sort of conditions it had been in, where Regina had kept Belle in. He'd only thought about killing Regina, and getting the pleasure of knowing it was a slow death. And here he'd gone, left Belle all alone, waiting for dinner.

“ What's wrong?” Belle asked, her face contorting from the warm greeting into an expression of worry.

“ I'm sorry I'm late. I should have called,” he managed to say, evading her scrutinizing gaze and opting to make a run for it past her, and his mouth took off on his prepared explanation for his extended absence, even if Belle hadn't required it yet. “There were unexpected visitors at the shop, and I had to help Prince Charming to find someone.”

“ You said... called?” Belle asked, puzzled, as she followed him to the kitchen. “Did you mean call  _ on _ me?”

“ No, I meant the telephone, sweetheart, I'll show you how to use it after dinner.” He explained the concept of the telephone, both the landline and the mobile, while unwrapping the dinner and moving it on clean white plates. Belle listened to him, but she eyed the food curiously.

“ Most kitchens and markets were closed today, so I'm afraid we'll have to make do with cod fried in batter.”

“ It smells very nice,” she announced, and Rumplestiltskin wasn't sure if she meant it, or if she was merely being kind. Which she was, by default.

“ Is it hot enough for you? Would you like me to warm it up for you?” Rumplestiltskin asked as he handed her a fork and knife from the cutlery drawer.

“ I'd rather not wait, to be honest. I worked quite an appetite for myself. I found a biscuit tin while you were gone, and I finished that with the rest of your lovely orange juice, but that was hours ago.”

Belle practically stole the plates from him, not giving him a chance to carry them to the dinner table. He remained in the kitchen and got out glasses, debating between plain ones and the nice wine ones for a second.

“ What would you like to drink?” He hollered after her over his shoulder.

“ Plain water is fine!” She was so quick on her feet, she was already back in the kitchen. She grabbed a crystal carafe and proceeded to fill it with water.

“ You could just sit down and let me,” Rumplestiltskin offered, “I already told you, you're not my caretaker anymore.”

Belle's eyes darted so quickly back and forth between Rumplestiltskin's eyes and his cane that someone with less interest in the detail would have missed it.

“ And I'm not a complete invalid, I can bring  _ something _ ,” he said, with a little bit more self-defensive acid in his tone than he'd intended.

Belle's spine seemed to gain an extra inch of length when she froze mid-step and turned around to look at him. “How about the glasses?” She suggested, perfectly amicably, and nodded at Rumplestiltskin's hand holding them.

Belle ate with ravenous appetite, and Rumplestiltskin spent more time watching her sit there and eat, half-heartedly eating his share much slower. When she was done, he allowed her to steal a few chips from his plate.

“ You didn't have to clean, you should ask me if you want the windows washed,” he broke the silence.

“ With magic,” she replied with a knowing look in her eye, and there was an awkward pause. Belle glanced down, and then back up at him again.

“ So you were helping Prince Charming today?” she asked.

“ Yes, he needed help finding someone,” Rumplestiltskin replied, and reached for his glass of water, since every second spent drinking would help him stall his answers.

“ Did you find them?”

“ I... helped him along. He wouldn't tell me who it was, he was looking for.”

“ Oh.” Belle said. The awkward quiet returned and stayed until she finished her plate. “Did you get your... inventory? Done?”

Rumplestiltskin nodded weakly. “I did. Are you still hungry? If you need anything, just tell me?”

Belle's concerned and careful expression broke into a brilliant smile, and she reached her hand across to table and rested it over his. “Thank you, for the lovely dinner, Rumplestiltskin.”

The warmth of her hand over his fingers made him feel warm inside abruptly. He turned his palm up so he could grasp Belle's hand in his. “I'll see if I can do a little better tomorrow,” he said softly. “I'll stay home with you the whole day, and we can do... whatever you like.”

Belle squeezed his hand and he thought he felt a little light in the head. “That sounds wonderful,” she said. “Do you... do you think I could try have that bath now?”

Rumplestiltskin's mind hopped quickly into the mental image of a naked Belle in the tub of the master bathroom, and then quickly out again, with the assumption that even if she was not averse to him kissing her, and preferred to sleep beside him in his bed for whatever reason, she was still a Lady of the Enchanted Forest, and that upbringing certainly implied that he wouldn't be laying his eyes on all of her bare, naked skin before a wedding ceremony, which he felt was an unlikely event at the time. And if that was an eventuality, if she was prone to always sleeping with a night gown on, not necessarily even then. He was far too old and cynical to think that this degree of virtue and modesty applied to every so-called lady of their homeland, but Belle... Belle was different.

”Could you make the bath for me please?” Belle asked prettily. ”I worked up a bit of a sweat today.”

”Of course, whatever you like. I'll go do that right away.” He let go of her hand in favour of the cane, and very consciously made his way upstairs. A little more magic removed some shampoos, lotions and a loofa from the market to the bathroom shelves. He wasn't sure what to get for her, so the amount of bathroom products tripled from its original quantity in a heartbeat. And towels. And a big fluffy bath robe.

He left the water running, and descended down to inform her about her selection of hair conditioner. And found Belle in the kitchen, done with doing all the dishes from their dinner.

”Oh. I could have done that while you bathed,” Rumplestiltskin said, realizing he'd been sent out of the way by the shrewd little bookworm who'd taken charge of his household again. Towards the end of their time together, this hadn't been an entirely uncommon occurrence in the Dark Castle.

Belle finished just dying up the last plate with a towel. ”I wrote down some questions and notes I had about this house, and this town, and the Internet, maybe you could take a look at those instead? I used the pen and paper from inside your desk, I hope you don't mind.”

”Of course not, sweetheart,” he said, and then she approached him, and kissed the corner of his mouth, and thanked him again for dinner, and the bath, and headed upstairs, leaving him standing at the foot of the staircase, feeling a little dumbstruck.

There was nothing to do except to go read her notes.

_ How does the electricity go inside the walls, and come out through the little holes? What are milk cartons? Milk cartons are used, not trees, when searching for missing people? according to the Internet box. _

Rumplestiltskin found pencilled drawings of Belle's father's face on a white notepad. Four pages. Belle's strength was not really in the art of sketching, but the face was recognizable enough that someone might know it for Moe French from the Game of Thorns.

Rumplestiltskin went through the notes, while deciding a way to avert this particular oncoming disaster. He found himself feeling so tense, he had to loosen his tie, and pour himself a small scotch, which took about five seconds to finish. He sat down, expecting Belle to take a while in her bath, and mulled over a number of things.

First of all, he had to find a way to break this new curse over Storybrooke.

He had to prevent Belle from meeting her father, so he could whisk her away safely out of this town without the two ever meeting, and her finding out what he did.

And sooner or later, he'd have to find out what Regina had done to Belle.

Seconds turned into minutest that stretched into an hour, while he stared into nothing and his mind raced over his new plans. Only when he started to think about a way to dispose of Belle's drawings, he happened to look at the time. He hadn't heard anything alarming from upstairs, but by then, Belle had been in the bath for a rather long time.

He trekked upstairs and once there, rapped on the bathroom door with his knuckles, calling her name. ”Please tell me you haven't drowned?” He added.

He heard Belle shift in the tub. _”Have I been here long?”_

”Did you bring a book?”

Pause. ”... _yes_.”

”The water must be getting cold.”

” _And_ I'm _getting very pruny,”_ Belle replied from beyond the closed door.

”Do you have everything you need? Or do you need help with the soaps and lotions? I wasn't sure what you'd like.”

There was a pause.

” _Who is Paul Mitchell?”_

”I have no idea, but I think you're holding a shampoo. It's for washing your hair with.”

” _It says Conditioner.”_

”You'll want to use that after the shampoo. There are probably instructions on the side of the bottles.”

” _Oh, there are! How clever.”_

Rumplestiltskin left Belle in peace to wash her hair. He around the bedroom nervously – noting that the bed had been made and Belle's blankets and pillow had removed themselves into the guest room – wondering if he should offer her a set of his pyjamas, since he wasn't sure how gentlemanly he'd be, reacting to seeing her in the short lacy slip that often.

Eventually, after much of very unfocused mulling, planning, thinking and general internal bewilderment which had been more or less a constant state of mind for Rumplestiltskin since Belle had stumbled into the back room of his shop, Belle stumbled into the bedroom, wrapped in towels underneath the big fluffy robe.

”Hi,” she said, standing hesitantly at the door. ”I think you mentioned something yesterday, when we were looking at things around the house, that there's science that can dry my hair?”

He blinked, until he remembered the existence of hair dryers. Mr Gold even owned one.

They ended up sitting on Belle's guest bed, Rumplestiltskin behind her, brushing her voluminous hair while drying it, and Belle telling about her day and her notes and plans. Rumplestiltskin asked her not to put any forks or knitting needles in the wall sockets, and explained further details about the nature of electricity.

He did want to ask Belle why she'd turned up in his bed the night before, and removed herself again for the coming night, but he reminded himself that his darling sweetheart was pale and malnourished, and she would, and should be allowed to sleep where she needed to. And he was self-aware enough to know if he found out that her night-time wandering was due to something Regina had done to her, there would be another argument.

And he didn't want that, couldn't bear that, then.

Belle's hair took a long while to dry, but once he was satisfied enough with it, Rumplestiltskin turned off the hair dryer and handed her her hairbrush, giving him an excuse to wind his arm around her as he pressed it into her palm.

”And now you know how a hair dryer works,” he said mirthfully, and felt his heart skip when Belle leaned back against him, and suddenly he had an armful of Belle to hold. She burrowed close to him, and he didn't hesitate to wrap his arms more securely around her, before he pressed his face into her hair, fresh and fragrant with the shampoo she'd used.

The moment lasted, and didn't break, until it came to its natural conclusion when Belle whispered something.

“What did you say?” Rumplestiltskin asked quietly.

“I it when you hold me,” Belle repeated herself. When she disentangled herself, it was to turn around to see him face to face.

“And I love holding you,” he replied with a low voice, and brushed a few stray curls on her face behind her ears.

Belle cocked her face again, and he could tell she was thinking of something.

“Would it be... imposing? If I slept next to you again tonight?” She sounded almost a little fearful, in the same manner the broken shell of a person Belle wasn't had been, when she'd appeared in the pawn shop.

“Of course not,” Rumplestiltskin assured her. “You can sleep where ever you like.”

“It's just that... I've been alone for a very, very long time,” she said, speech slightly staggering as she looked for her words.

And he'd left her all alone all day.

She looked much more determined when she detected he'd made his heart rise up to his throat. “I was fine during the day! I kept myself busy. I don't know if that is so easy at night. In the dark.”

Rumplestiltskin couldn't reign in his need to know for any longer.

“You have to tell me what Regina did to you,” he said, with barely constricted snarl and vehemence.

Belle's earlier soft and easy countenance hardened. “She had me imprisoned. There was nothing else to it.” Belle's eyes darted around the room briefly. “I don't want to dwell on that. It happened, and now it's over, and we can move on, and be together.” She stared at him defiantly, as if daring him to repeat his vows of revenge on Regina.

Rumplestiltskin grabbed his cane and pulled himself up, and then helped Belle up as well. “Do you want to change out of your towel, while I make us tea?”

“That sounds like a plan. And then we could sit down and have a talk about what we're going to do.”

“Tomorrow?”

Belle looked at him as if he were a little silly.

“No, I mean the rest of our lives! Together.” She beamed a wide, satisfied smile, and then headed for her wardrobe.

Rumplestiltskin closed the door as he left, and wondered what his input on that conversation might be. With any luck, he might have up to fifteen minutes to come up with believable white lie.

 


End file.
